


Intertwined

by SenTheSeventh



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Biting, Fluff, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenTheSeventh/pseuds/SenTheSeventh
Summary: About this one time Dante knew the Underworld better than Vergil, and this one time Vergil saw something in the Overworld that Dante didn't.





	Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vorokis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorokis/gifts).



> A (very late) birthday present for the very kind and very talented Vorokis, who writes amazing Dante/Vergil smut that you should read now! I took inspiration from two of your prompts, "stargazing" and "first kiss". I hope you'll like it!
> 
> Edited by the amazing and talented [Sootandshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootandshadow/pseuds/sootandshadow). As always, thank you for polishing my work into something readable <3

**1/ Down**

“Oh, yeah,” Dante says as the realization hits him. “I actually know where we are.”

Vergil stares at him. They’ve been walking for weeks, looking for places where passage will not weaken the barrier between the Underworld and Overworld. They probably should have covered more ground since they began searching but, well – a fight now and then makes life interesting, doesn’t it?

Vergil and he slip into duels and competitions as easily as they breathe. Demons crowd them, and they compare headcounts; one minute, they talk and the other, they’re blade against blade.

It’s not hate. There’s anger in it, sometimes, resentment boiling like poison in Dante’s guts as they deal in pain and violence – the family way – working through mountains of hurts, conflicts and secrets. But there’s no hate; never was. He’d disliked his twin, he’d despised his ideals, but he never managed hate...

“You know this place.” Vergil’s intonation holds a question that he will not voice outright. His big brother is bad at dealing with the missing years between them, the gaping voids of ignorance that crack through their familiarity. Dante can’t blame him; he’s the same, only he’s better at avoiding the subject altogether.

“I do, yeah. Went to Hell once, by accident.”

“By accident.” All these years, and Vergil is still so good at playing the judgmental big brother _._

“Stuff happens, you know?”

His twin answers with a soft, contemplative groan. He’s grown even less talkative with their years of separation, and Dante doesn’t want to reflect on the reasons for that. Vergil just needs a good dose of Annoying Little Brother medicine, that’s all.

“How long?” Vergil asks.

“Eh. Years? Around five. Maybe more, maybe less.”

“What did you _do_ , Dante?”

“Had to close a portal from the inside.”

Vergil stays silent – not his usual aloofness, but something heavy with the weight of unvoiced questions. Dante’s not going to grant him answers, though, not if he doesn’t ask. For once, it’s his brother reaching for him, and there’s reassurance in the fact – dysfunctional reassurance, perhaps, but Dante will take whatever he can get.

“Come on, Vergil,” he says with a grin. “Gonna show you something.”

“Is it yet another sexually evocative part of scenery?” Vergil asks dryly.

“Don’t try to deny that you cracked a smile at that fleshy rock stuff.”

“It was a grimace of pain.”

“Nope, that was a smile. I saw it. Just like the one you have right now!”

Vergil grins and turns his face away, which is just childish. Dante loves it.

“Nonsense, Dante. This is a rictus of tension. My little brother just told me he wanted to show me something. The situation is worrying.”

“‘Worrying?’ You wound me, Vergil! Now you have to tell me what you’re expecting.”

“Anything.” Dante jerks his head slightly, surprised to get an answer that is not brotherly sarcasm. Vergil grants him a small, lopsided smile. “You’re the man who counts himself and a motorcycle among his arsenal.”

It feels like a compliment, like a joke between brothers; like another hand reaching for his. Something warm unfolds in Dante's chest and he could laugh at being so sensitive as a forty-something demon hunter, but – fuck it.

He’s happy, and he's going to enjoy it to the fullest.

They have to walk for a while, navigating between strange goo-filled crevices and idly pummeling the local fauna, before Dante finds what he was searching for: high, bone-like ridges that he climbs with ease. He grins and gestures at Vergil.

“ _Here_. Look.”

Vergil catches up to him and gazes down.

There’s a great chasm at their feet, so wide they can’t even see the other side, and it’s filled with stars – blinking, colorful lights in the unnatural darkness that licks at the edge of white rock. For all its demonic strangeness, the view is striking; a piece of sky poured into the abyss.

At Dante’s side, Vergil stands utterly silent.

“So?” Dante asks proudly. “Amazing, huh?”

His twin doesn’t answer. Dante turns towards him, about to poke him to get a reaction, and stops when he sees his expression.

“I had forgotten that there was beauty in Hell,” Vergil says, very softly.

There is a maelstrom of unspoken memories – _feelings_ in these few words. Dante thinks about the things that they’ll never address because that’s not something they do – talking about the cracks, the _weaknesses_ left by the all-too-human part of their heritage.

Silence stretches, and Vergil’s eyes look at things that aren't there. Eventually, Dante shrugs.

“Well, _duh_ , there’s beauty in Hell. There’s _us_.”

Vergil is surprised into a huff of laughter. Dante grins, proud of himself.

For a while, they just stand in silence, gazing at the starry not-sky. At Dante’s side, Vergil’s presence is a constant rival to his demon, setting his blood on edge, and yet –

His blood. Half of him. There’s something fundamentally _incomplete_ to his being that craves this, the way his twin’s existence echoes his own.

After a while, Vergil sits down, and Dante follows suit, half-sprawling at the edge of the abyss. They stay like this for what may be a few minutes, or a few hours, before his big brother looks at him and says, “I have sad news, Dante.”

Dante cocks his head at him in silent questioning. Vergil’s solemn mask cracks into a smirk.

“Two of the beauties of Hell are going to leave it soon.”

“Place’s good for a passageway?”

“Indeed.”

“Damn. That’s a serious blow to Hell.”

“A tragic setback to the Underworld’s touristic appeal,” Vergil agrees.

Dante grins. They get up simultaneously. His brother looks at him, briefly, and extends a hand towards him.

Dante raises a perplexed eyebrow and takes it instinctively. Vergil’s skin is slightly warmer than his; unsurprising. His demon is half-flesh half-blue fire, of a deceptively arctic shade that is far hotter than Dante’s own inferno. It suits him, because despite how much Vergil hides it under his cold, policed facade, his temper is all-consuming in its passions.

“Dante,” Vergil utters.

And there’s something familiar in the way he says his name: avidity, focus, an intensity that echoes deep inside of Dante. Dante's breath stays stuck, hanging on his twin’s slightest movements.

Vergil’s gaze holds his own and Dante snaps first, roughly grabbing at his lapel to pull him forward in a crushing kiss.

He probably deserved the sharp pain between his ribs, a reflexive jab with Yamato’s hilt from his dear big brother. They’re both predators, after all; quick moves trigger quick responses. Dante doesn’t care, though, because Vergil opens his lips for him, welcomes him in, and then viciously bites his tongue. Pain and desire flood Dante’s mind, the taste of blood feeding his hunger, but his twin is already lapping at his closing wound and at the arc of his teeth – greediness, lust and their common instinct to dominate.

They fight, again, and though the manner is different, their bodies answer each other's just as fluidly. Vergil is gripping at Dante’s captured hand hard enough that it hurts and Dante clasps at his nape in retort, digs his nails in until he feels skin tear. Vergil tastes so much like him, despite the years, tongue moving like rough velvet against his, teeth nipping at his lips almost to the point of blood because they want _more_ , both of them; they need _everything of each other._

Dante wants to bite his brother, mark him as _his_ and feel the pulse of his life under his tongue. He wants to fuck him in any shape, hard enough and deep enough that it’ll brand the sensation deep into Vergil’s body and mind, and he wants the same to be done to him. To erase the distance between them as much as they can, now, _now_ –

Dante breaks off the kiss when he needs to breathe and Vergil chases after his lips for one last bite. _Greedy asshole_.

He grins reflexively. Need is a physical hurt in his belly, his head. He wants to do it all over again and the intensity of his desire terrifies him. He spent his life controlling his basest instincts, even in combat; it’s ingrained in him, a bone-deep panic of _you can’t_ , _probably a bad idea_ , and an even more ridiculous _you’re going to hurt him_.

After all, Vergil is the only one who can take him, be it in the Underworld or in the Overworld.

Vergil grabs at his neck, eyes boring into his. There’s a deadly intensity to them that fascinates Dante, that calls to the beast hissing among his human thoughts.

“You liked it.”

He can’t help but laugh, though he feels his brother tensing at that. He’s never been good at gravitas. Not for long. "’f course I did.” _Sorry, mom_.

“Will you oppose me with mortal conventions when we get back?”

“What?”

“Will you refuse me once we’re back to the human world? Speak about _incest_ , _morality_ and _we shouldn’t_?” Vergil’s voice is cold, each syllable chiseled and dropped like caltrops between them. Dante blinks because the answer is so fucking obvious with their fingers still clasped in each other’s, with his free hands clenched on Vergil’s nape to keep him close.

“No.”

“ _Swear it_.” There’s an inhuman edge to the demand, Vergil’s demonic self coming out to play, and his fingers dig into Dante’s throat hard enough to make him cough. Dante restrains his reflex to snarl back or refuse on principle. Violence is tempting, and orders always stung his pride into rebellion, but he feels that this edge belongs to a blade far more dangerous than Yamato.

He’s not losing his twin again, nor the strange equilibrium Nero dragged them into.

“I _swear_ , Vergil. Happy?”

His brother doesn’t answer, but the grip on Dante’s neck slackens. The demon hunter chases it with a bat of his hand, forcing himself into a relaxed stance.

“Were you going to throw me into the abyss if I said no?” He asks. As he does, he realizes it’s not a joke but a true question.

Vergil shrugs. “To throw _us_ into the abyss.”

Dante laughs despite himself and grabs him closer. This time, Vergil doesn’t stab him, which is only fucking fair since Dante isn’t kicking his ass for his answer. This is twisted, abhorrent, insane, and both Dante’s demon and human sides are lapping it up, which is probably telling about how fucked-up he really is.

He doesn’t care.

“Why did you ask for my hand?” He asks against Vergil’s lips.

“You don’t touch a predator without warning. Better if you make it approach you first.”

“And why did you –”

He can’t finish his sentence, feelings too raw on his tongue, but Vergil understands. Of course he does.

“There are none of your humans, here. If I was to do something, it’s in a place where you remember what we really are.”

And that is Vergil incarnate; cold logic in the oddest, maddest things. Dante bites his twin’s lip hard enough to make it bleed and licks at the red, coppery ichor that seeps against his mouth.

Vergil’s blood tastes like him. He loves it.

“Crazy asshole,” Dante whispers against his brother’s lips.

Vergil chuckles darkly.

“An apt description for us both, wouldn’t you agree, Dante?”

He’s far too right about that.

**2/ Up**

They’ve been back for three months now. Nero was angry with them – Dante can’t say he blames him – and now he’s only sulky, which is an improvement. Though “sulky” means “very prone to violence” when talking about the kid, so Dante’s working hard at his Royal Guard and Vergil’s learning to be even more of a quick asshole.

Vergil rents a suite in the DMC shop; Dante told him there was no need for money between them, but his twin had insisted. The funds he came up with for renovations sounded a bit mysterious, but hey, as long as nobody’s dying, Dante isn’t gonna pry too much. The very fact that Vergil is here is already enough of a miracle.

They hunt together, sometimes. Dante suspects Vergil does it mostly for fun, because his brother seems more interested with the “selling Devil Arms and priceless artifacts” part of the business. He’s been negotiating with Morrison to get his foot in the door of some occult networks, and the fact that he’s _very_ good at obtaining rare loot is definitely working to his advantage.

“This is fully beneficial to us, brother. It earns me money, and mortals getting their grubby hands on objects of power can devolve into financial opportunity for _you_ , too.”

Yeah, they fought about that one. Vergil _really_ needs to drop his bad habit of disregarding human casualties every time he launches into a new project.

Mostly, however, they get along with an ease that would have been impossible in their youth. They leave each other room to be the individualistic assholes they both are. Dante even knows when to stop running his mouth, sometimes (only _sometimes_ , though. Wouldn’t want Vergil to lose this cute wrinkle he gets from frowning too often). Vergil, for his part, occasionally allows himself small displays of open affection: coming to the shop with artisan-made sundae, letting Dante lay his head on his lap and petting his hair while he reads them poetry, or even _compliments_.

Also, they’re...

They’re...

 _Dating_ sounds ridiculous, the kind of things that normal, non-related humans do. So Dante just think of it as “being together,” which is both vague and accurate enough for them.

They’re together, _finally_. Living, fighting, (making love) fucking and quarreling about dumb, petty things just so they can duel some more. Dante’s been happy before, and he’s always reckoned that he’s had a perfectly fine life, all things considered – some sucky times, yes, but nothing dramatic, nothing that couldn’t be cured with drunkenness or massacring demons – yet being with Vergil is bringing him a peace so complete that he’s almost afraid of it. He’s learning to get used to the feeling, but it’s still a work in progress.

“I want to show you something,” Vergil says one day.

Dante raises his eyebrows at him, roused from the half-nap he was attempting at his desk.

“Show me your thing, Vergil; I’m ready.”

A quiet groan signals that Vergil did catch his meaning and disapproves of it. Dante grins, feeling quite proud of himself.

“Congratulations, Dante. You’re still finding new ways to talk about sex.”

“I know, I know! I’m an amazing guy.” Dante nods. Then, because he’s curious, he presses the matter. “So? What is it?”

“It’s not sexual, so I don’t know if you’re going to survive the disappointment.”

“I’ll try to withstand it.”

Vergil doesn’t answer, though, very ostensibly busy with putting his new boots on. (Dante has a self-imposed rule: if his brother continues to insist on wearing clothes that are a pain to get off, then it’s Dante’s duty to teach him that it’s a stupid idea that always results in a lot of broken laces and straps.)

“Come on, Vergil!”

“Mm?”

“What did you want to show me?”

“I forgot.”

“ _Vergiiil_ ,” Dante drags his name out like they’re children again.

He only needs to repeat it thrice before his big brother sighs and rises.

“We’re going now.”

“At night? If you’re bringing me to a graveyard, I’m calling you V.”

Vergil’s smile is almost fond. “Fool. Come.”

Yamato slashes through the air and Dante jumps over his desk, hurrying to his brother’s side.

“Did you find a good nightclub?” He asks as he follows his twin through the portal. “Or is it a dangerous underground librar–”

The sight cuts him off.

They’re on the roof of their childhood home, perched on some beams miraculously spared by flames and age ( _wards_ , said Vergil when they’d talked about it, and Dante can indeed feel the remaining magic). Under their feet, ruins.

Over their head, a boundless shard of sparkling lights studded against utter blackness; the night sky, stark and pure from the polluting glare of the city. All sizes of stars blink at him in the darkness; miniature suns, cloudy glows of small, diamond dust-like agglomerations, and solitary sparks in-between. It’s a new moon, but its absence only emphasizes the lights; the night is a sea of luminous gemstones that washes over the world, breathing cosmic breaths all around them.

For a moment, Dante is struck silent by the beauty unfolding over him. At his side, he can feel Vergil’s quiet happiness and pride.

After a while, their hands find each other’s.

“So?” Vergil asks eventually. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

Dante grins despite himself.

“It’s incredible, you showy smartass.”

“It takes one to know one,” Vergil quips back.

Dante laughs. The view really _is_ gorgeous. He feels drunk from its boundless beauty, from its contrast to the grim remains under them; from Vergil’s warmth and closeness to him.

“Score one for Vergil,” he concedes.

Vergil grins at him, fingers squeezing his slightly. The night is incredibly luminous, the stars perfectly underlining the edge of his smile and the glint of his eyes.

“Where did you learn to count? We’re even.”

And Dante can only laugh, because his brother did it: he won. Won by fair play, won without fighting, won by sharing something unexpected and beautiful that Dante didn’t know about in his own goddamn turf, just like Dante did back in the Underworld.

“I forgot the human world could be so beautiful,” he recites to Vergil.

His twin smiles.

“Well, it has us, doesn’t it?”

Dante laughs again and pulls his brother for a kiss that tastes just like him, just like _them_.

They watch the stars until the sun rises.


End file.
